


Medicated

by CatLovePower



Category: Lethal Weapon (TV)
Genre: Crazy Riggs, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Medication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 17:39:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12537508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatLovePower/pseuds/CatLovePower
Summary: Riggs didn’t do hospitals.Or, Murtaugh misplaced Riggs, and Riggs wished he hadn’t been found.





	Medicated

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Driving On Automatic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12358038) by [TheTetrarch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTetrarch/pseuds/TheTetrarch). 



As far as Tuesdays went, this had not been a good Tuesday, Roger thought as he heavily sat down at his desk. He suddenly wondered why he came back to the precinct, instead of a. going back home or b. staying with his partner at the hospital.

He probably had been lured by a weird sense of duty, and the notion that paperwork couldn’t wait. And also because Riggs had said repetitively that he was fine, to the point that he was becoming obnoxious and Murtaugh was afraid he would strangle him on the way to the hospital. So he left him in the deft hands of the paramedics on scene. And now he felt bad about it.

 

As usual, papers were long and complicated to fill, because of all the unpredictable parameters that came with working with Riggs. It was supposed to be a simple identity check, to confirm the whereabouts of a suspect. Who decided to run when he saw them.

So far, nothing unusual, but he lived on the fourth floor and he must have been an acrobat in another life, because he jumped out the window and swung from the metallic stair case along the wall. But that still wasn't the worst of it. He was also the proud owner of several guns, and even though his aim was shaky at best, he still managed to hit Riggs.

So, when Murtaugh finally caught up with them – because there was no way he was following a suspect and his crazy partner in a circus show – Riggs was bleeding from his shoulder and their runner was out cold on the pavement.

“I fell on him,” Riggs explained with a grin. “Weapon secured.”

Ambulances were called, and suspects were booked. Riggs said he would go to the hospital with the EMTs, and...

 

“ _You left him there?_ ” Trish sounded furious on the phone and Murtaugh was starting to regret calling her for advice.

“He said he was fine,” Murtaugh said, but it sounded wrong even to his ears.

“ _When is he ever?_ ” Trish sighed on the other side of the line. She sure had a point there.

“I'll go and make sure he's okay,” Murtaugh placated.

“ _He's better be, Roger_.”

And it totally sounded like a threat. When did he become the legal guardian of a crazy grown man...

 

The trip to the ER where their suspect had been brought proved unhelpful, because apparently no one had any recollection of Riggs being admitted, no matter how well Murtaugh tried to describe him.

“He looks like a hobo. A sand hobo who lives at the beach. I would have said a vet, but he has crazy hair, and…”

“Is he a mental patient?” the man behind the desk asked.

“No, he's a cop,” Murtaugh corrected. “He was shot in the shoulder earlier.”

“And you are sure he was brought here?”

“I think… Our suspect was.”

Murtaugh was starting to feel uneasy about the whole thing. What if Riggs had decided that a hole in his body wasn't enough to justify a trip to the hospital? He didn't really seem to like the place, and who could blame him.

“Did you try calling him?” the man offered, looking wary.

“Did I...”

He started laughing in front of a very confused hospital employee. He had not, in fact, thought about calling Riggs, since he was infamous for never answering his cell anyway.

He stepped away from the front desk and tried. It rang a bunch of times, then went to voicemail. The third time was the charm, and Riggs answered with a grunt, maybe a groan.

“You sound awful, where are you?”

“ _Hmm?_ ” was the only answer he got.

“Did you go to the hospital?”

He was starting to get angry and scared, and he could feel his heart pounding. Avoid stress, his doctor said. But his partner was the biggest stress generator ever invented.

“ _Not staying. ‘_ _M_ _fine_.” Riggs sounded far away, and his voice echoed a little.

“But you did go to the ER?” Murtaugh tried again, talking slowly and trying to remain calm.

Static. Then a clattering sound.

“Did you drop the phone? Riggs?”

By the end of the conversation, he had moved to the public entrance, and everyone was throwing him sideways glances. Even if he didn't like to do so, he hung up on his partner and called Bailey.

“Could you trace Riggs’ phone for me?”

“ _Well hello to you too, detective_.”

“Yes, can you do it?”

“ _Did you lose him_ again _?_ ” she joked, lingering a bit too long on the again.

One day he was going to put a track chip on Riggs. It wouldn't be so hard, since he had all but three shirts and apparently no clue what a washing machine was.

An awkward silence settled, until Bailey started talking again. “ _Alright, he's at_ _LAC_ _. You're not far yourself_ ,” she added.

“He's at the hospital? Where?”

“ _I'm not the CIA, I can't really give you anything more precise_ ,” Bailey apologized. “ _Can I go back to doing some actual police work?_ ” she concluded, flippant as ever.

Murtaugh muttered some thanks and terminated the call.

 

He was in the building, but he hadn't been admitted. He said he wasn't staying, and yet his phone put him there. It made no sense. Unless...

Acting on a hunch, he went back in and looked for the elevator. Then he went down to the parking garage in the basement. His own car was outside the ER entrance, but he figured the basement would be where a confused Riggs would have looked for his car, even though Murtaugh knew his pickup was back at the precinct.

The basement was surprisingly well lit, but the stark neon lighting gave the place a bleak aspect. He tried calling Riggs’ phone again, while he was walking among the parked cars. A feeling of dread hadn't left him since they were cut off.

He was going to give up when he speed dialed again and heard a faint buzzing sound. Like a mobile phone rattling against the concrete ground.

“Where the hell are you, Riggs?” he muttered, not waiting for an answer and not getting any.

The phone stopped moving, and so did the noise. That’s when he saw the blood on the floor. In the harsh light, it was too red, and it looked unreal. He stopped dead on his tracks and called out once again.

“Go ‘way...” Riggs rasped.

Murtaugh went around the car and he needed a second or two to take in the scene before him. Riggs had bled through his shirt, all over the car he was propped against, and it was starting to pool around him on the garage floor.

“What did you do?” Murtaugh said, but the blood everywhere already told a story.

He crouched, ignoring the way his knees protested, and tried to draw Riggs’ attention.

“Riggs, come on.”

He snapped his fingers next to his head. He was reluctant to touch him, not because he was sweaty and bloody, but because he was afraid of any strong reaction from his partner. He learned a while back that sometimes it wasn’t such a good idea to wake up Riggs from a nap by making loud noises; he had a shiner for a week to prove it.

Riggs lifted his head and said, somewhat clearly, “I fucked up, Rog.”

“Indeed you did,” Murtaugh smiled. “Come on, get up.”

He offered his arm, and Riggs climbed to his feet, looking wobbly and confused.

“I couldn’t find my car,” he hesitated.

“It’s okay. Come on.”

He led him to the elevator, careful not to poke his holey shoulder, and trying not to go too fast because Riggs seemed ready to topple over and stay down for good.

 

“Don’t let them give me anything,” Riggs said, once they settled him on a gurney in the ER.

“Are you serious right now? Do you like suffering that much?”

They were making a scene, and half the hospital seemed to be fretting around them. A male nurse was currently trying to cut away Riggs’ shirt. He was promptly hooked to an IV, but he kept flinging his good arm, threatening to tear the whole thing.

It was quite unlike him to freak out like that. Murtaugh tried to recall the last time he went to the hospital as a patient – but he realized that he had never really been there to witness how it went down.

“You don’t understand…” Riggs all but whined.

“Then explain it to me.”

That seemed to decide Riggs to take matters into his own hands, as he suddenly stood up and sent a nearby tray flying. The IV tugged at his hand but hold. Murtaugh took a step back, but the male nurse didn’t have any training in handling a berserk Riggs. He tried to approach, palms up in a placating gesture. For some reason, it made Riggs laugh; bad news, Murtaugh thought.

Then someone behind them spotted the gun in Riggs’ holster, sticking out from his pants as if he was a common criminal. A scream of “Gun!” was all it took, and before he could do anything, a burly security man had jumped Riggs, knocking him to the floor.

“He’s a cop!” Murtaugh screamed, but they had already sedated him, sticking him through his jeans.

This one would be fun to explain, he thought.

 

Murtaugh was on the phone with Avery when Riggs decided to join the land of the conscious again. He stopped talking and greeted his partner.

“So what did I do?” Riggs croaked.

“Nearly bled out in the parking garage, then fought a security guard when we helped you.”

Riggs tried to run a hand through his hair, but found out he couldn’t. His bad arm was tucked in by a thick bandage and a shoulder sling, and his other arm was tied to the gurney with a restraint.

 

Seeing Riggs disconcerted look, Murtaugh asked, “Don’t you remember?”

“Not really, but I guess I deserved it.”

He had a defeated look on his face, and he looked like shit because of the blood loss. Murtaugh told him so, but he got no witty reply.

“What’s up with you and hospitals then?”

It was blunt, maybe too much, but if they wanted this partnership to work, they had to be honest about things like that. At least that’s what Murtaugh thought.

“Just you wait,” Riggs answered, while eyeing his perfusion with a suspicious look.

 

“I’m telling you, Trish, something is not right with him,” Murtaugh was repeating over the phone. People eyed him in the hall, so he moved closer to the vending machines, trying to keep his voice down.

“ _Did you ask him why he tried to leave?_ ”

“Yes, but he didn’t tell me. He’s drugged up to his eyeballs right now,” he explained.

“ _What did the doctor said?_ ” Trish asked, reasonable as ever.

“He said that Riggs was a lucky bastard, and that he was running on fumes. His shoulder will heal. They’re keeping him overnight, so I think I’m going to head home.”

“ _Sounds good, honey._ ”

He had just hung out the phone when he heard a loud crash farther in the ER. Here we go again, he thought, and he headed in the direction of the commotion.

Of course it was Riggs, it was always Riggs. He had somehow managed to slip the contentions, tear off the perfusion and get out of his box. Blood was dripping from his hand onto the tiled floor.

“Alright, nothing to see here, mam. Mind your own problems, shoo. There you go…”

Murtaugh tried to redirect everyone’s attention away from his partner. He hoped to work some sense into him before the cavalry arrived. At this point, he felt very much like a weary zoo keeper.

Riggs raised his head and looked at him with feverish eyes, through a curtain of greasy locks.

“I can’t find my gun,” he growled, low and dangerous.

“It’s okay, I got it.”

“I need it. I’m a cop,” Riggs insisted. “I have to...”

“Catch bad guys?” Murtaugh supplied with a smile.

“Hm-mm,” Riggs said, but he was looking the other way, already distracted.

It took some coaxing and light pushes in the right direction, but soon he had him back in his bed.

 

Much later, after Murtaugh had called Trish to tell her he wouldn’t be coming home, after he had called Avery to tell him Riggs would be taking some overdue days-off, Riggs finally woke up to his old remotely crazy self.

“Not running away this time?” Murtaugh asked tentatively.

“Yeah, about that...” Riggs drawled.

 

He was not tied up this time, but he felt as if he had been in a stampede earlier. His shoulder ached, and he welcomed the pain, it made him feel alive. Murtaugh deserved an apology, or at best an explanation, but medication made everything fuzzy and time seemed to slow.

His partner produced a plastic cup full of water from nowhere, and he drank like a man lost in the desert who had just found an oasis.

“I should have told you earlier,” he started, looking at the hospital ceiling. One of the neon lights flickered slightly.

Murtaugh leaned closer and the hospital chair creaked.

“I think...” He tried to find the right way to word it. “I think my brain has a faulty wire. Opiates fuck me up real good. I usually end up running away. Or scaring people.”

“Well you managed to do both this time, congrats!” Murtaugh joked, but he looked sad and anxious, like he often did when Riggs got hurt and downplayed his injuries.

“So what, you can’t be medicated?” Murtaugh asked, and he sounded offended, as if it was Riggs’ fault.

“I’ll make you a list,” Riggs smiled.

“Or, you know, stay out of the hospital?”

“Or that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I read TheTetrarch's great fic where Riggs freaks out and flees the hospital after he was given Percocet, I thought that Murtaugh had to find out about it somehow...


End file.
